Never by gold or silver hands <br />On a black face, or bonging <br />Menacingly from a tower <br />In some foreign place. <br /> <br />Certainly never digitaly flashing <br />From a VCR, mircrowave oven, <br />Bank sign or anything else. <br /> <br />No chasing the second hand across <br />A stark white face while <br />Killing time in a cubicled space. <br /> <br />Never from the top right corner <br />Of a computer monitor while <br />Stiff-necked and numbed <br />By the keyboard's clatter. <br /> <br />Never bejeweled, phospheresent <br />Or waterproof. <br /> <br />Never from my wrist, or any other wrist, <br />Hanging from a chain <br />Or from a stranger's lips. <br /> <br />No Grandfather clocks, <br />Mickey Mouse watches, hour glasses, <br />Punch clocks, alarm or cookoo clocks. <br /> <br />But only from this quartz clock, <br />With its glass face rimmed in gold, <br />And its gears exposed, <br />Is true time told. <br /> <br />Always in the right place, <br />Set on freshly dusted and polished wood in front <br />Of the wide living room window. <br /> <br />The numbers <br />Are there, if you care. <br />Thin and suspended, <br />Secondary to what passes <br />Through and by its face. <br /> <br />Blowing leaves, swirling snow, cars, <br />Birds, walkers, children, the mailman, <br />Bicyclists, funeral processions. <br /> <br />The morning's first bright sun, <br />Sliced thin by vertical blinds, <br />Projected onto the hardwood floor <br />Through its glass face.<br /><br />Francis Santaquilani<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/quartz-clock/
